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OATEN STOP SERIES 
VII 



ONE WAY TO 
THE WOODS 

BY EVALEEN -STEIN 




BOSTON COPEl/AND AND DAY 



Q3M3MU sauoo 




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4410 



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COPYRIGHT 1897 BY COPELAND AND DAY 



TO THE MEMORY OF MY 

DEAR FATHER 

JOHN A. STEIN 

I LOVINGLY DEDICATE 

THIS MY FIRST BOOK 



CONTENTS 




One Way to the Woods 


I 


The March Frosts 


5 


Feast of Palms 


6 


Budding-Time too Brief 


8 


In Mexico 


9 


January- 


II 


Unfamiliar 


14 


Heart Song 


15 


The Marshes 


i6 


The Drought 


1 8 


Hyacinths 


19 


The Bayou 


20 


In Youth 


26 


Midsummer 


26 


Mistral's Poem " Mir^io " 


Z7 


The Hill Pasture 


28 


The Mist 


29 


October Song 


31 


Conscience 


33 



Evening down the "Long Drift" 34 



CONTENTS 




Baffled 


38 


Earth Voices 


39 


A Little Cascade 


40 


Persistent 


41 


Flood-Time on the Marshes 


42 


July 


44 


Autumn Cobwebs 


45 


The Old Garden, in September 


47 


Presentiment 


53 


The Exiles 


54 


In Mid-October 


55 


Present Joy 


58 


November Morning 


59 


Christmas Eve in the Cathedral 


60 


Christmas Chant Royal to the King 




of Kings 


61 


The Marsh Mist 


65 


Envoy 


70 



THE song of Nature stirs 
Within the budding trees 
Her true interpreters 

The birds and honey-bees ; 
And wintry winds that freeze 

And toss the frosty firs, 
What minstrelsies of these 
That are not wholly hers ? 

Dear heart, I pray it be 

Some little song of mine 
May murmur unto thee. 

From out the written line. 
Some note of that divine 

Eternal melody, 
And make the gladness thine 

It brings and sings to me ! 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 



A LEVEL reach of April sun. 
Beside the river, faintly blue, 
That purls and swirls and twinkles throu| 
The sycamores, but just begun 

To bud anew ; 
Then up a gently rising hill, 
Beneath tall walnut trees, until 
Some tufts of flaky hawthorns strew 

And powder all the way with white j 
On, past a farmhouse hidden quite 
In drifts of cherry bloom ; and still 
Keep to the north, beyond the bend 
Abreast whose sharply curving turn 

The distant roadway seems to end 
In banks of brake and lady-fern. 

And willow boughs, in youthful hue 
Of tenderest green that ever grew. 
Verge into view. 

There, facing westward, loiter slow. 
While troops of robins, rollicking 
Among the bluebells, wing and sing j 

And gladly as the robins, so 

Let Nature's gracious overflow 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Of light and life steep every sense 

In depths of joyous indolence ! 
Thus, pacing leisurely, push through 
The wayside weeds and meadow-rue 
And wild witch-hazels, where a few 

White-turbaned bloodroots blossoming, 

Like small green-caftaned pilgrims, bring 
The shrine of Spring 

Their sweet belated offering. 

Then loose a leaning gate, and bold 
Fare on, across a cornfield where, 
Half-buried by the busy share, 
The stalks of stubble shine like gold, 
And, freshly turned, the furrowed mold 
Lies rich and bare. 

Tall daisy stems already chain 
The farther gate, that leads again 
Into a long, light, grassy lane. 

Where wagon-tracks of tawny brown. 
Inlaid with mosses, wind adown 
Through new green sheen of winter grain. 
The hedges there on either side 
Are leafless yet, but all the more 
In airy, universal, wide 
High-tide, 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

The golden April sunbeams pour 
Between their ramparts, closely set, 
And filter through their silver net 

Of thorny interlacing boughs ; 
The spreading redbud branches lean 
Like rosy coral in between. 
And in the distance, faintly seen, 

Some white sheep browse. 

And half a score of lazy cows 
Crop off the pasture's tender green. 

But by and by, upon the right, 
There breaks a sudden gleam of white } 
The fitful hum of honey-bees ; 
And, tinkling in its interval. 
You catch the call 
Of orchard orioles, — then all 
The blowing, snowing apple-trees 
Burst into sight ! 
Ah, what more exquisite delight. 

What sweets in all the world more sweet. 
With more pure tenderness replete. 
Than some old orchard holds ? And none 
Of all beneath the April sun. 
Can boast aught sweeter than this one ! 
— I fancy that I see it now. 
Its sprays of bloom, that sway and toss ; 

3 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

('Twas there I broke this little bough, 
Whose waxy clusters, pink and white. 

Leaned so enticingly across 

The ragged fence-rails, gray with moss, 
The very trees seemed to invite 

Their own bright loss !) 

But then, in truth, one needs must pause 
Beside this self-same spot, because, 

O'ergrown with dandelions and weeds, 
The roadway ends 5 but winding thence, 
A violet-tufted footpath leads 

Through scented depths, and ways 
apart. 
Through shadowed aisles and thickets dense, 
Down through a deep fern-filled ravine, 

And on, into the hidden heart 
Of all the woodland's growing green. 

Beneath tall shafts of elm and oak. 

The trailing,brown,wild grape-vine swings. 
And in long wreaths the woodbine clings 
Round tangled undergrowth that springs 

Just high enough for one to stroke 
The little linden leaves, and feel 
The downy spice-wood buds, and steal 
A glimpse into a bluebird's nest. 

4 



THE MARCH FROSTS 

In crinkled verdure, here and there, 

The buckeye boughs show newly drest ; 

And dogwood branches whiten where 
A tiny stream slips down below. 
Whose murmurous, faintly-fluting flow, 

Through long lush grass and starweed, frets j 
There golden-yellow cowslips grow j 

And there I found these violets. 



THE MARCH FROSTS 

THE little leaves that tip the trees 
With palest greenery everywhere, 
O bitter nights, that blight and freeze. 
And hurtling winds, and icy air. 
Forbear ! Forbear ! 
Have you no tenderness for these. 
Nor any care ? 

No pity for the buds that break 

And fringe the maples, rosy red, 
The starting apple-sprays, that make 
A silver fretwork overhead ? 

When these are dead. 
How shall the April for their sake 
Be comforted ? 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Oh, all my heart is full of pain ! 

The hurt they feel is hurt to me ! 
The helpless little leaves ! I fain 
Would cherish them so tenderly, 
It might not be 
Such cruel grief should fall again 
On any tree ! 

I would that I could gently fold 

Against my breast, for sheltering, 
Each tiniest bud the peach-boughs hold. 
And every gracious burgeoning 
Of everything 5 
So fondling them, through frost and cold. 
Until the spring ! 



o 



FEAST OF PALMS 

NCE where green palms were laid, 
Rode strangest cavalcade 
Men e' er beheld ; 
For in the midst of it 
Lowly a God did sit, 
It so in holy writ 

Stands chronicled. 



FEAST OF PALMS 

What though in triumph proud 
The glad exulting crowd 

Flung wide the palm, 
The joyful throngs between, 
Over the boughs of green, 
He rode with humble mien. 
Divinely calm. 

Aye, what were earthly prize 
To him whose prescient eyes 

Foresaw the thorn ; 
Foresaw all things to be. 
And kingliest victory 
Of meek humility. 

With patience borne ? 

Then bring ye palms to-day. 
And holy, lowly pray. 

Nor nourish pride j 
Whoso in gentleness 
God's triumph doth confess. 
His heart the King will bless, 
And therein ride. 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 



BUDDING-TIME TOO BRIEF 

O LITTLE buds, break not so fast ! 
The spring's but new. 
The skies will yet be brighter blue, 

And sunny too. 
I w^ould you might thus sweetly last 
Till this glad season's overpast, 
Nor hasten through. 

It is so exquisite to feel 

The light, warm sun 5 

To merely know the winter done. 

And life begun 5 
And to my heart no blooms appeal 
For tenderness so deep and real, 

As any one 

Of these first April buds, that hold 

The hint of spring's 

Rare perfectness that May-time brings. 

So take not wings ! 
Oh, linger, linger, nor unfold 
Too swiftly through the mellow mold, 

Sweet growing things ! 



IN MEXICO 

And errant birds, and honey-bees, 

Seek not to wile. 

And sun, let not your warmest smile 

Quite yet beguile 
The young peach-boughs and apple-trees 
To trust their beauty to the breeze j 

Wait yet awhile ! 

IN MEXICO 

THE cactus towers, straight and tall, 
Through fallow fields of chaparral j 
And here and there, in paths apart, 
A dusky peon guides his cart. 
And yokes of oxen journey slow, 
In Mexico. 

And oft some distant tinkling tells 
Of muleteers, with wagon-bells 

That jangle sweet across the maize, 
And green agave stalks that raise 

Rich spires of blossoms, row on row, 
In Mexico. 

Upon the whitened city walls 
The golden sunshine softly falls. 
On archways set with orange trees, 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

On paven courts and balconies 

Where trailing vines toss to and fro, 
In Mexico. 

And patient little donkeys fare 
With laden saddle-bags, and bear 

Through narrow ways quaint water-jars 
Wreathed round with waxen lily stars 
And scarlet poppy-buds that blow, 
In Mexico. 

In liquid syllables, the cries 
Of far fruit-venders faintly rise ; 
And under thick palmetto shades, 
And down cool covered colonnades. 
The tides of traffic gently flow, 
In Mexico. 

When twilight falls, more near and clear 
The tender southern skies appear, 

And down green slopes of blooming Umes 
Come cascades of cathedral chimes j 
And prayerful figures worship low, 
In Mexico. 

A land of lutes and witching tones. 
Of silver, onyx, opal stones j 

lO 



JANUARY 

A lazy land, wherein all seems 
Enchanted into endless dreams 5 
And never any need they know, 
In Mexico, 

Of life's unquiet, swift advance ; 
But slipped into such gracious trance. 
The restless world speeds on, unfelt, 
Unheeded, as by those who dwelt 
In olden ages, long ago, 
In Mexico. 



JANUARY 

TO and fro. 
To and fro. 
Athwart the tingling icy air. 

The linden branches blow, and so. 
With warp of wind and woof of snow, 
The weaver Winter' s shuttles go 5 
Such garment rare 

The earth shall wear. 
No softest ermine, neither vair. 
Nor royal robing anywhere. 

Nor any cunning looms may show 
A fabric half so fair. 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Upon the peach and apple trees 
A thousand frosty fringes freeze 5 

The moon-vines lace the lattice bars 
In filmy filagrees. 

The grass is flecked with flaky stars j 
The clover-tufts are hid from sight j 
And, now and then, a bird alight 

With burst of gleeful flutter, jars 
The pearly-laden red rose-hips, 
And tilting airily, so tips 

A tiny tempest, pelting down 

The slender briars bare and brown ; 
Or else some sudden flurry stirs 
The fleecy drifts that freight the firs. 
And swept from silvery tassels slips 

A swirling cloud of trailing, bright. 

Light scarfs of powdered white. 

Along the wall the mossy stones 

Have caught and fixed the falling flakes 
Where, in quaint shapes, the grape-vine 
makes 

A low relief, with shadow-tones 

More soft than carven marble takes 5 

And whiter by each gust that blows 

From off" the roof, the climbing rose. 
In chiselled wealth of bough and thorn. 



JANUARY 

About the doorway swiftly grows 

A skilful sculpture ; but the sprays 
Of honeysuckle, overborne 

By crystal cargoes, cannot raise 
Their icy-fettered maze. 

A world of shining hints of hues, 
Wherein all tints so gently fuse 
In loveliness of light and shade. 
No eye may tell whereof is made 
Such pearly radiance 5 nor invade 
The violet depth thereof for clues 

To clasp its color-keys, and know 
The subtile secrets of the snow 5 
The gleaming heavens, overlaid 
With loosened spangles, softly fade 
Into the gleaming earth below 5 
And all horizons seem to be 
Lost in white purity. 

Aye, richly. Winter, to and fro 
Thus let your silver shuttles go. 

Till every sparkling web is spun 5 
Still, with rare skill, unceasing ply 
Your artful trickeries, and try 

All chill enchantments, every one 
Of all devices to beguile 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

This dreary overweary while 
Wherein we wait the sun ; 
And since the north must yet prevail, 
And bitter cheerless winds assail, 

Come, white-wing' d snows, and over all 
Like shreds of floating feathers fall. 
And lightly lie ! 

So, by and by, 
— Ah, by and by ! — 
Like blue flakes from an azure sky, 
The April birds will fly. 

UNFAMILIAR 

THE world is all unreal to-day ! 
I strive to fathom whence 
There sometimes comes this subtly strange 
Dim sense of difference. 

I gaze with gravely open eyes, 

No flaw of sight may be ; 
Still, somewise vaguely out of touch, 

All things seem strange to me. 

The grass, the sky, the apple-trees. 

The honeysuckle vine, 
I know I know them all, — and yet, 

I cannot make them mine ! 
14 



HEART SONG 

Familiar tasks, with careful hand 

And vision, even now 
I fashion out ; although, in truth, 

I scarce remember how. 

All purposes, ambitions, aims, 

All vital forces, take 
A value slight as if I slept j 

But yet I am awake ! 

And vainly still my being seeks 

To break this baffling spell 
That blurs its clearer consciousness, 

— Wherefore, I cannot tell. 

HEART SONG 

AS one who holds a charm' d witch-hazel 
rod. 
And, as it veers, divines the hidden springs. 
Whose whispered chimes and muffled mur- 

murings 
Had passed unheeded underneath the sod, 
And as that spot, where careless footsteps 

trod, 
Then sparkles into silver speech and sings 
A liquid song that wakes to burgeonings 
The seeds imbedded in the barren clod, 

15 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

So, dearest heart, within my breast have you 
Pierced to the hidden melodies, and freed 
Its singing springs, and touched the buried 

seed 
Of strange, bright buds whereof I never 

knew ! 
Sweet beyond words, and of such subtile 

power, 
It seems my whole life breaking into flower. 

THE MARSHES 

PALE shimmering skies that lightly 
bear 
Fine filmy clouds that idly fare 
In lazy wavering, wheresoe' er 

The faint, uncertain breezes go 5 

And even so. 
In airy motion down below, 
Tall wild rice, wild rice everywhere ! 

From out the marshy wilderness. 
With plumes and pennons numberless, 
In endless lines its armies press : 

The very river it besets 
And foils and frets 

With leaves like little bayonets 
16 



THE MARSHES 

That pierce the light and glint and gleam 
And glitter in the midmost stream j 

And so besieged and closed about, 

The captive waves lap in and out 
Among the lacing stems, and creep 
Through flowered grasses and through deep 

Translucent pools wherein they seem 
To drowse and dream 
In draughts of liquid light, and steep 

In sunbeams, till, too spent to stir. 
They sink into a golden sleep, 

So held perpetual prisoner. 

And over all there softly plays, 

Through summer days, 
A mangel of pale violet haze 
That sheathes and wreathes and overlays 

The thousand swaying plumes that rise 
From all those silvery water-ways 

Wherein the drowsy river lies, 

Content to clasp the gracious skies 
That twinkle through Its tangled maze, 

And nestle In it lazywise. 

And, now and then, a wild bird flies 

From hidden haunts among the reeds ; 
Or, faintly heard, a bittern cries 

'7 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Across the tasselled water-weeds ; 
Or, floating upward from the green 
Young willow wands, with sunny sheen 
On pearly breast, and wings outspread, 
A white crane journeys overhead. 

For leagues on leagues no sign is there 

Of any snare 
For human toil, nor grief nor care ; 
The fields for bread lie otherwhere. 
— Only the wild rice, straight and tall, 
The wild rice waving over all. 



THE DROUGHT 

ON laden lands the web of gold. 
Whose shuttles slanting sunbeams ply. 
Lies broken-meshed upon the wheat, 
Where sere stalks die. 

The young corn curls its husky blades, 
And bees athirst pale blossoms drain. 

While languid buds bend low to earth 
Between the grain. 

The fisher crosses, ankle-deep, 
The shrunken river as it moans 



HYACINTHS 

Through bleaching banks of barren sand 
And scorching stones. 

Gaunt trees pathetic to the sky 

Their parched and crisping boughs stretch 
out ; 
O winds, go search the nimbus clouds, 

And end the drought ! 



HYACINTHS 

I PLACED the purple hyacinths 
Above the lips I loved 5 
Across the narrow mound a fret 
Of leafy shadows moved. 

Between the branches overhead 

The April sky was blue. 
And now and then a shining drift 

Of little clouds looked through. 

The blessed breath of bloomy things 

Enfolded all the air. 
And from the hedge of evergreen 

A robin sang somewhere. 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

I strove to see the happy earth, 

But over bud and leaf 
A sudden darkness fell, for I 

Was blinded by my grief. 

dearest heart ! they seemed so long , 
The lonely, lonely years ! 

1 laid my face against the grass, 

And showered it with tears. 



THE BAYOU 

BELOW the bridge, a little way 
Float downward near the bank, beneath 
The trailing wild-grape vines that 
wreathe 
The water-oaks and elms, and sway 

Far out across the current ; down 
Beyond the drift where in deep pools. 
Among the mosses' tawny brown. 
The lazy river-mussels cling j 
Where little turtles hide, and schools 
Of tiny fishes flash in view, 
And part, and dart, and start anew 
In eager aimless journeying. 



THE BAYOU 

On, past the slender reeds that swing 

Their tufts of tasselled bloom, and show 
Where sweet-flags grow ; 
Past willow wands that weave and fling 
Athwart the way a waving screen, 
Through which the tinkling ripples flow, 

And sing, and ring, 
With drowsy murmurs, soft and slow, 
And ceaseless silver cadencing ; 

— But there, just where the bushes lean 
And cross in leafy archway, hung 
With rosy mallow-flowers, and strung 
With ivory button-balls, and green 
With tender freshness everywhere. 
Just there 
Turn, and steer straightway in be- 
tween. 

Ah, surely none would ever guess 
That through that tangled wilderness. 

Through those far forest depths remote, 
Lay any smallest path, much less 

A way wherein to guide a boat ! 
But whoso knows the stream, and shares 

The rare deep secrets that it hides. 
Nor e'er confides 
Save only unto him who bears 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

True love of nature's lore, 

And dares 
Her inmost pathways to explore, 
— Unto such sympathetic eyes 
The river, ofttimes unawares. 

Leads onward to some sweet surprise. 

And so, push gently through the dense 

Low button-balls, 
And plumy growths of wild-rice, whence 
At cautious, watchful intervals, 
The brooding hermit-bittern calls ; 
Then steering slowly, in and out. 
Curve close about 
The lofty forest trees, and wind 
Among the willows, intertwined 
And crept across 
By scarlet trumpet-vines, that toss 
In lavish richness unconfined 

Above the blooming water-moss j 
The trailing, tufted moss, that makes 
A carpet of its starry flakes 

So thick that one may scarcely see 
The long lithe lily-stems that grow 
Far down below 
With buds of pearl and gold enshrined 
Amid vague under-greenery. 



THE BAYOU 

And lightly, here and there, among 
The russet rushes, as you go. 
The curling, purling ripples flow, 
And to and fro. 
With fitful motion, faintly stir 
The fine green film the waves have hung 
About the underwood, and flung 

In scarfs of shining gossamer 
Upon the grasses, lush and low ; 

— Then presently. 
Beyond the lily-pads, maybe, 

There breaks the softly vibrant whir 
Of wafting wings, and through the reeds, 

Uprising — rising — far and free, 
A sweetly-fluting throstle speeds 
With burst of mellow melody. 

But from the forest depths profound 
There comes no sound ; 
So dusk, so dense, so wholly still. 
The outer winds that thither stray 
Sweep slowly on, from tree to tree. 

And down long shadowed ways, until. 
Charged with the strange solemnity 

Those hushed and hidden haunts instil. 
All silently, into the day 
They steal away. 

^3 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

— And there, within the bayou' s heart, 

Adrift, apart 
From all save that untrodden wood. 

So deep 
Secluded in the solitude 

Of those tall towering trees, that keep 
The very atmosphere imbued 

With breath of primal peacefulness, 
— There, clasped in Nature's close 
caress. 
Slipped sheer from all inquietude. 
At peace upon the limpid stream, 
I know no other ways that seem 
So sweet wherein to drift and dream. 

There, floating on in tranquil mood. 
The tire, the tumult, and the stress, 
The dreary brood 
Of toil and fret 
And fevered, never-ending care, 
— All, all this wide world's weariness 
Seems otherwhere 5 
So far, far otherwhere ! — And yet, 

Through reason of the peaceful air 

My own griefs wear. 
That very sense of farness steals 
Into my heart with strange appeals j 
'Z4 



THE BAYOU 

All distant strife of living pleads 
Its needs, 
Remote, half-comprehended, — still 
With such insistent pathos, till 
My dream-borne spirit wakes and heeds j 
That sentient stillness stirs in me 
A keener, subtler sympathy j 
My inmost being throbs, expands. 
And understands 
More what the restless world may be. 

And like the free reed-birds that fly 
From those green tangles to the sky. 
Yet seek the bayou, by and by. 
So, on a nobler, higher quest. 
New-fledging from its body nest. 
My eager soul soars up and sees 
J More of God's gracious mysteries j 
Wherefrom a larger love it learns. 
And then, with humble mien, returns. 
Divines, more near, the perfect rest 
Of Nature's breast. 
And so, touched tenderly through these. 
Feels more of true humanities. 



25 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 



IN YOUTH 

NOT lips of mine have ever said : 
" Would God that I were dead ! " 
Nay, cruel griefs ! ye cannot break 
My love of life ; nor can ye make 
Oblivion blest in anywise, 

Nor death seem sweet for sorrow's sake. 
Life ! Life ! my every pulse outcries 

For life, and love, and quickened breath, 
O God, — not, not for death ! 



u 



MIDSUMMER 

PON the fields a golden blur, 



Pink bindweeds trailing through the 
corn ; 
From orchard boughs the muffled whir 

Of bright wings, faintly borne ; 
Along the roads, pale amethyst 

Of plumy banks of bergamot ; 
And in my eyes a rising mist 

Of grief, or joy, — I know not what ! 

Again I feel the old sweet ache 
That fills the heart for beauty's sake ; 

The yearning tenderness that grieves 
a6 



MISTRAL'S POEM " MIRfelO " 

O'er fields, and flowers, and wind-blown 
leaves. 

And golden sheaves, 
And loveliness of earth and sky, 
In strange sharp pangs, — we know not 
why. 
The pain that bafiies him who tries 

In anywise 
Its subtile grief to analyze ; 

And yet that is a joy that thrills 
And overfills 
The quivering soul, and clarifies 
Its eager vision unto fine 
Undreamed-of raptures, all-divine ! 
And so I let the surging tears, 
Unquestioned, brim my happy eyes, 

While all my barkening spirit hears 
The great Earth-song uprise. 

MISTRAL'S POEM " MIR^IO " 

AROSE of song that tops the tree 
In sunny gardens over-sea. 
Where grows the golden fleur-de-lis. 
The myrtle, and 
In scented clusters, dewy wet. 



27 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

The blue Proven9al violet. 
The land of lilting chansonette, 
The poets' land. 

Like music swept from silver strings 
The pure sweet love the poet sings, 
And what though touched with sorrowings 
And grievous woes, 
Yet still the tender tale thereof 
Is dear all other themes above, 
A perfect song of perfect love } 
For like the rose 

That leans against the garden wall, 

Though on its petals raindrops fall 

And chill winds buffet, yet withal, 

When matched with this. 

Not all the shining lily spires 

Nor any scarlet poppy fires 

So satisfy the heart's desires j 

And so love is. 

THE HILL PASTURE 

IN silky balls beside the stream 
The pussy-willows stand, 
Where thick the yellow cowslips gleam 

Upon the reedy land. 
28 



THE MIST 

And up the hillside, green and steep, 

The lacing dogwood boughs 
In fleeting glimpses show the sheep 

Like blossoms as they browse. 

The redbud trees are wrapped in rose, 
The hawthorn throbs and pales. 

And launched by every breeze that blows 
The elm seeds spread their sails. 

They float like shining spangles bright 

Adown the sunny air. 
And cargoes sweet of sheer delight 

Unto my heart they bear. 

In happy dreams I watch the flocks. 

While, like a lavish king. 
With golden key the day unlocks 

The treasures of the spring. 

THE MIST 

ABOVE the bayou, softly bright 
With coronal of silver rays. 
Through rifting drifts of pearly haze 
And rings of rosy halo-light, 
Across the sweet October night 
The rising full-moon rode 5 

29* 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

And lifting airily its load 
Of leaf and fruit and tangled fret 
Of little twigs, while newly glowed 
Her perfect disk, a linden showed 
In graceful silhouette. 

Sometimes the waxing moonbeams fell 
Athwart the river's brink and crossed 
Its still tide with their magic spell, 
Till all the trailing water-grass 
Glittered like traceries of frost 
Upon a pane of glass. 

In veils of vapor, far away 

To east and west, the marshes lay ; 

A pallid wilderness, whereon 

Vague ferns and ghostly grasses grew, 

Tall moon-tipped rushes, and a few 

Weird water-willows, faint of hue, 

And sedges slim and w^an. 

Then presently, slow gathering through 

The gleaming air, like webs that blow 

At autumn time across the blue 

In fleecy garlands white as snow 

And light as any feather, so 

The mist hung quivering, wreath on wreath j 

30 



OCTOBER SONG 

And gently, somewhere underneath, 
The river murmured low. 

So spectral, yet so strangely fair, 
All nature softly swept from sight. 
Till soon there only lingered there 
The earth's eidolon, still and white ; 
Whence ever, through that shrouding air. 
Dissolving in the breathless night. 
Fine forces mounted, spirit-wise ; 
In shining wraiths I saw them pass. 
And essences of trees and grass 
Rise soul-like to the skies. 

OCTOBER SONG 

THE locust trees are hung with pods 
Of glossy russet-brown. 
And tawny leaves of sycamores 
Are swiftly drifting down. 

Their purple clusters, over-ripe. 
The trailing wild-grapes show ; 

And frost -tipped woodbine clambers up 
From scarlet depths below. 

Still clinging to the clover stalks 
Are blossoms, white and sweet : 



31 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

And pricked in tufted rows, the fields 
Are green with winter wheat. 

On furrowed mold, where grew the corn. 

Pale, golden stubble stands ; 
And lingering blackbirds pipe and trill 

Through swampy meadow-lands. 

Far, far above, within the blue. 

Half hid in lofty flight, 
A hawk sails slow, and sunward turns 

A breast of shining white. 

The air is full of milkweed films. 

And floating thistle floss ; 
And busily the spiders spin 

Their silver nets across 

The red-oak's tangled undergrowth 

Of lacing boughs, and string 
The yellow lindens, that the winds 

Are rudely pillaging. 

And where the ruddy maples blaze 

Athwart the gusty air. 
It lifts their leaves like little flames. 

And puffs them everywhere. 
32 



CONSCIENCE 

But what if, loosed with fitful touch, 

The woodland doffs its gown j 
What if the fallow hillside grass 

Grows slowly crisp and brown ! 

What matter that the truant sun 

Slips southward, day by day, 
And that, hard by, the winter waits 

To hood the skies in gray ! 

I'll find but deeper joy in this, 

The autumn' s pageantry ; 
And sumac boughs are brighter far 

Than dark forebodings be. 

CONSCIENCE 

AH, God ! Ah, God ! if we but knew 
What hosts of haunting griefs we stir. 
What sorrowing spectres will pursue 
The least ungentle acts we do, 
I think we would be patienter ! 

O throbbing heart and conscience, cease ! 
Be still, be still, and give me peace ! 

How could I guess, how could I know 
That from such blighting words would grow 

33 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Thought-harvests that could trouble so ? 
That in my heart sharp-bladed wrath 
Would reap such bitter aftermath ? 

Had I not borne, and borne, and borne ? 

Was not my spirit overworn 

With ceaseless striving to repress ? 

Should blame fall if for one brief space 

Swift scorn gained place ? 

Must burdened wrong seek no redress ? 

— Yet, oh, all arguments how vain ! 

The grief remains not any less. 

I only know the tears like rain 

Storm from my eyes ! and I would fain 

Endure again 
The hurt, the heartache, and the pain ! 
Oh, rather all that old distress 
Than this most keen remorsefulness ! 



EVENING DOWN THE ''LONG 
DRIFT '' 

BLUE as the forest far and dim 
Upon the vague horizon's rim. 
As softly shadowed as the green 
Rush-tasselled marshlands in between, 
Rose-tinctured as the light that lies 
34 



DOWN THE "LONG DRIFT'* 

Within the tender evening skies, 

As golden as the afterglow 

That quivers up the west, and so 

As many colored as the tones 

That chase through changeful opal stones. 

The river ripples by, 
And I 

Am floating into fairyland. 

On either hand 

The pale, green-wanded willows stand 
In feathery tufts whose shadows hide 
Haunts where the shy wild-birds abide ; 
And through the reeds 

The lush rose-mallow bushes lean. 

Where screened by burgeoned button-balls, 
And tall wild-rice, the bittern feeds. 
And, clasped in clinging water-weeds. 

White folded lily buds are seen, 
And spikes of blazing cardinals. 

That like inverted torches show 
And burn and glow 
Down deep transparent pools and swirls, 
Where soft as silk the river-moss 
Spins slender threads of filmy floss 
Strung thick with little lucent seeds, 

35 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

While in and out and close across 
The fragile plantain-flower unfurls, 
And, thrusting through the dripping reeds. 

Star-worts, like tiny divers, toss 
Their hoards of blossom pearls. 

Through dimpling deeps and eddy whirls. 
Far, far below, 
With fitful motion, swift and slow. 
The shining fishes come and go ; 
And all the limpid pools unfold 
Rare treasures shrined in sands of gold ; 

For so 
While down the sheer clear stream I gaze, 
The tempered evening light betrays 
Sweet secrets, that the dazzling days 
With their bewildering fire and glow. 
And over-wealth of sun, withhold. 

— Ah, gently, gently, gently blow. 
Sweet winds of heaven now ! for slow 
Upfloating from the dewy mold. 
The mist is rolled ! 
O lightly, most divinely breathe. 
While yonder airy vapors sheathe 
The grassy marshes till they grow 
Too faint for any eye to know ; 
36 



DOWN THE '<LONG DRIFT" 

And see ! like tissue veils that hold 
Fantastic river-genii bold, 
They rise, and rise, and twine and wreathe, 
And all the crystal stream enfold. 

On, on through wonderland I go. 
And hear the silvery ebb and flow, 
And chiming cadence, soft and low, 

Of tiny tinkling waves that creep 
Like thousand little liquid flutes 
Among the twisted maple-roots ; 

While from the forest, still and deep. 
The night-owl calls. 
And distant wandering west-winds sweep 

With murmurous melody that falls 
As faintly as a song of sleep. 

With drowsy, dreamful intervals. . 

To some enchanted tune 
They croon 

Sweet lullabies 5 
While deeper, ever deeper grows 
Th3 violet tinge upon the rose 

Within the water-skies 5 
"Where rays of pearl and purple gleam 

From spangling scallop-shells, till soon 
Confusedly through all the stream 

37 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

The stars are strewn j 
And meshed in mocking greenery 
Of oak, and ash, and willow-tree, 
And trailing tangled grass, I see 

The little crescent moon. 

— Oh, keen-felt joy and strange distress 
Of nature's perfect graciousness ! 
I feel your sweetly poignant smart 
Within my heart. 
Till, wrought by beauty's sheer excess, 
Quick teardrops start beyond restraint. 
And all my very soul grows faint 
With loveliness. 

BAFFLED 

AH ! would that I that baffling touch 
might know. 
That oftentimes, as on a sounding-board. 
Strikes in my soul a strange elusive chord ; 
That, grieving me with unremembered woe. 
Yet hints as surely of some long ago 

Glad life and joy, in lavish wealth out- 
poured. 
Till all my waking memory beats accord. 
And throbs and strives to grasp and prove it 

so. 
38 



EARTH VOICES 

But ere Its eager message I may learn, 

It sinks back fettered, with a nameless 
pain 5 
Yet evermore I know it must return 

With sense of truth that battles to be 
plain 5 
And in this subtile consciousness I yearn 
For that full knowledge which I seek in 
vain. 



EARTH VOICES 

ONOT alone in human hearts that throb, 
Do grief and joy find voice ; 
For, even so, the fields and forests sob. 
And, even so, rejoice. 

There is no certain, separating line 

That wisest men may trace ; 
Where sentience ceases no one may divine. 

Nor fix its bound or place. 

For he who humbly, reverently bends 

To them the barkening ear, 
From trees and grasses straightway compre- 
hends 
Heart-tidings sweet and clear. 

39 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

The earth confides, as from a million lips, 

Its gladness and distress 5 
With everything he finds true fellowships, 

And kindred consciousness. 

And knows that through the green leaves 
overhead. 
And through the silent clod. 
Through man and nature runs one golden 
thread 
That binds them both to God. 



A LITTLE CASCADE 

THE shining water slipped and slipped 
Adown the mossy rocks, and dripped 
From off fine fringing ferns in drops 
Of endless threaded pearls, that tipped 
The tasselled sedge and alder tops 
With flickering light 5 and then it sipped 
A drowsy draught of sun, and dipped 
Beneath small, clustering buds, and hid 
Among lush marigolds, and slid 
Between tall, serried ranks of reeds. 
And stroked their little leaves, and lipped 
The flower-spangled jewel-weeds 5 
Then, speeding suddenly amid 
40 



PERSISTENT 

Faint shimmering spray, it lightly tripped 
Across white pebbly sand, and stripped 
The marsh-flower's gold, and fled, half-seen, 
A splash of silver through the green. 

PERSISTENT 

A LITTLE picture haunts me j 
It comes and comes again : 
It is a tiny bird's nest. 
All ragged from the rain. 

It clings within a birch-tree 
Upon the moorland's edge. 

Between the barren branches, 
Above the swaying sedge. 

The sky is gray behind it. 

And when the north winds blow, 

The birch-tree bends and shivers. 
And tosses to and fro. 

I wonder, does it haunt them, 
The birds that flew away ? 

And will they come to seek it. 
Some sunny summer day ? 



41 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

I wonder, does some redbreast 

Upon an orange bough, 
Still picture it as plainly 

As I can view it now ? 

Ah, me ! I would forget it. 
Yet still, with sense of pain, 

I see this little bird's nest 
Within the driving rain, 

FLOOD-TIME ON THE MARSHES 

DEAR marshes, by no hand of man 
Laboriously sown. 
My river clasps you in its arms 
And claims you for its own ! 
It laughs, and laughs, and twinkles on 

Across the reedy soil. 
That heed of harvest vexes not, 
Nor need of any toil. 

And in my heart I joy to know 

That safe within this spot 
Sweet nature reigns 5 let other fields 

Bear bread, it matters not. 
— What matters aught of anything 

When one may drift away 
42 



FLOOD-TIME ON THE MARSHES 

Into the realms of all-delight, 
As I drift on to-day ? 

Beneath the budded swamp-rose sprays 

The blue-eyed grasses stand, 
Submerged within a crystal world, 

A limpid wonderland 5 
And where the clustered sedges show 

Their silky-tasselled sheaves, 
The slender arrow-lily lifts 

Its quiver of green leaves. 

The tiny waves lap softly past. 

So musical and round, 
I think they must be molded out 

Of sunshine and sweet sound. 
And here and there some little knoll. 

More lofty than the rest, 
Stands out above the happy tide. 



Where fringed with lacy fronds of fern 
The grass grows rich and high. 

And flowering spider-worts have caught 
The color of the sky ; 

Where water-oaks are thickly strung 
With green and golden balls, 

43 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

And from tall tilting iris tips 
The wild canary calls. 

— O gracious world ! I seem to feel 

A kinship with the trees 5 
I am first-cousin to the marsh, 

A sister to the breeze ! 
My heartstrings tremble to its touch, 

In throbs supremely sweet, 
And through my pulses light and life 

And love divinely meet. 

Far off, the sunbeams smite the woods. 

And pearly fleeces sail 
Athwart the light, and leave below 

A purple-shadowed trail j 
The essence of the perfect June 

So subtly is distilled. 
Until my very soul of souls 

Is filled, and overfilled 1 



JULY 

STILL lingering along the lanes 
A few late elder-blossoms blow, 
And here and there a wild-rose, though 

Within their veins 
44 



AUTUMN COBWEBS 

The crimson currents fainter grow, 
The pilgrim south-wind slowly drains 

Their fragile chalices, and slow 
The butterflies forsake the fanes 

Found fair a little while ago. 
Through all the fields, in orange stains 

The flaming milkweeds burn and glow 
Like blazing beacon-fires to show 

July beleaguers June 5 and low 
Overborne, her bloomy banner wanes, 
The while he gains 

Her last sweet citadel, — and so. 
Supreme in conquering splendor reigns ! 

AUTUMN COBWEBS 

THE grass is veiled with cobwebs. 
Their slender silken strands 
Are looped about the lilacs ; 

And on the fallow lands 
The seeded weeds and brambles 

With shining skeins are bound, 
And scarlet dogwood branches 
Are wound and interwound. 

They wrap the thorny hedges, 
And shimmer in between 



45 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

The fruited elder thickets 

With faint elusive sheen j 
They hang across the wheat blades. 

And in the mellow light 
So fill the fields with splendor 

As gold or silver might. 

The orchard boughs are distaffs 

Wherefrom the wind and sun 
Seem reeling filmy flosses 

Of which white threads are spun j 
They trail from yellow cornstalks 

And wayside thistles, too, 
And fleecy tufts are drifting 

Far up into the blue. 

And even as I watch them 

They brush across my lips, 
And float about my forehead 

And touch my finger-tips ; 
It is as if the Autumn, 

In sheer excess of grace. 
Would fondle me and hold me 

In her divine embrace. 



46 



THE OLD GARDEN, IN SEPTEMBER 



THE OLD GARDEN, IN SEPTEMBER 

A MORNING-GLORY vine has bound 
The leaning gate half-open, so 
A ragged row 
Of vagrant poppy plants have found 
The grassy path beyond its bar. 
And, capped in crumpled scarlet, go 
A bold 
Bright throng of truants, trooping far 
Adown the wayside's mossy mold, 

And fallow ground. 
That bits of bloom have bossed and scrolled 
In lavish limning wide around. 

And tufts of hardy fennel-star 
Have pricked and spangled white and gold. 

And high above the paling fence. 

And thrusting softly in between. 
The sweet-syringa bushes lean, 
A mass of checkered shadows, whence. 
With fluttering glints of silver sheen. 

Half-hid, half-seen, 
From curving canopies of green 
Close-lapping leaves and thickets dense, 

White butterflies drift down and bring 
The hint of spring, 

47 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

And mock the May-time's opulence 

And pride of pearly blossoming. 

Red coral beads already string 

The unpruned sprays 
A score of briar-roses fling 

And trail across the tangled maze 

Of sunshine, shadow, winding ways. 
And pebbly paths where, fine as down. 

Soft new grass shows, 
That grows 

From seeds the sower South-wind blows 
Off unmown tassels, high and brown. 

And since afar the summer goes. 
And lihes wane 
And fade and follow in her train, 

And, lapsed through lessened line, the 
last 
Long glory of the roses' reign 
Is overpast, 
Within the garden's kingdom close 
The year bestows 
A color coronet, that lies 
Upon the marigolds, and vies 
In richness with the regal guise 
Of starry crest and purple stain 
48 



THE OLD GARDEN IN SEPTEMBER 

The first unfolding aster shows j 
That proud and princely suzerain 

Of quaint beds edged with crimson 
phlox, 

And four o' clocks, 
And files of fluted pinks, and rows 
Of great tall tilting hollyhocks. 

The pear-tree leaves are bronze and red ; 
And overhead. 
Beyond the thick-set barberry hedge, 
Beneath the vane-tipped gable peak, 
A yellow streak 
Of burnished sunshine gilds the edge 

And drips its amber lacquer through 
The lichens of a little ledge 

Where, verging sharply into view 
Against the small 
Deep-shadowed squares that pierce the 
wall, 
A pair of pigeons preen and coo : 
They turn, and toss, and softly call. 
Then poised with fanning wings outspread. 
With many a sidewise dip and glance. 

And look askance. 
At last, launched boldly into flight. 
Speed straight ahead — 

49 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Athwart the blue, a pulsing, bright, 
Swift throb of white. 

And loosed and sprinkled as they pass, 
Upon the grass 
In gusty storms the red leaves fall ; 
And here and there the way is tinged 
With late-sprung dandelions, and fringed 
With hoary dusty-miller leaves, 
And spicy gilly-flowers, and sheaves 
Of ribbon-grasses, stiff and tall ; 
While surging softly over all. 
The sweet September weather creeps 

Along the paths in sparkling streams. 
And where its happy high-tide sweeps 
In mellow deeps 
Of warmth, and light, and limpid 
beams, 
A lazy kitten basks and sleeps. 

And close beside, bright dahlias rear 

Along the walks 
A horde of nodding tops, and peer 

Between the leaning sunflower stalks : 
Those veterans of the early year. 
That smitten now with age, and sear 

In tattered garb of tawny hue, 
50 



THE OLD GARDEN IN SEPTEMBER 

Stand feebly swaying through the weeds, 
Whereon, in scattered showers, they 
strew 
Thin sifted seeds 
From out the darkened disks they hold, 

And, shorn and rayless, idly swing, 
Nor longer sunward, as of old. 
Lift up in loyal worshiping ; 

— But pause a space ! for, by and by. 

From out the blue 
Far reaches of the autumn sky, 
With buoyant speed and eager wing, 

A feathered flock comes wheeling down. 
So circling in a rapid ring 

Till all at once, on every brown 
And withered head, with grace untold, 
In yellow fringe the finches cling, 
A halo light, a living crown, 
A very aureole of gold. 

Transmuting and transfiguring ! 

Through plumy grass the crickets whir j 
And ever, wavering in the breeze. 
Between the low-boughed pippin trees, 
In lacy films fine cobwebs stir, 

And swing, half-seen, their broideries ; 
Till suddenly some shaft of light 

51 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Strikes out a single silver line 
To shine 

An instant, and then intertwine, 
And fade, 

And merge in dusky strands of 
shade. 
The overhanging branches braid j 
So 
To and fro, 
Now bright. 

Now quite 

Slipped out of sight ; 
Then presently a woven blur 
Of swaying, silken gossamer. 

— Ah, tempered sky, and bloomy things. 
And scent, and song, and wafting wings, 
All sweetest syllables were vain 
To render plain 
The garden's dreamy whisperings ! 
The tender beauty of the spot. 
The nameless spell, — I know not what, 
Nor have I skill in any way 
To so convey 
Those gracious secrets I would fain 
Find art to say ! 
But in the sunshine, watching these 
52 



PRESENTIMENT 

Slight threads that loop the apple-trees, 
So, too, I weave this web of song. 
Whose tissue, touched by fancy's long 
Bright 

Wand of light. 
Is but the half-caught fitful sheen 
Through that unseen 

Close warp of love, forever bound 
And interwound. 
As fine as floss, yet strong as steel ; 
Whereof I feel 
Not any years that intervene. 

Nor any stress of space, may part 
Its golden ties, that lie between 

This old-time garden and my heart. 



PRESENTIMENT 

OFTTIMES I feel, yet know not why. 
This haunting prescience stir in me : 
I know that when I come to die 

— It matters not where that may be, 

— Or near or far, on land or sea, 
An overpowering wish to lie 

Beneath the roof I loved so well. 
In that dear shelter wherein we. 

In life's sweet April, used to dwell, 

53 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Where first my baby lips drew breath, 
Oh, in the bitterness of death 

This wish will bring fresh agony ! 
That hearth where now no fires are lit. 
My heart will break desiring it. 



B 



THE EXILES 
ARE blackened boughs 



►That seem to press 
Low skies, storm-swept and pitiless. 
Must be the only roofs to house 
Or shelter their distress. 

They tread by night 

Beneath the trees j 

Before them desert distances. 
Whereon the endless snows are white. 

And endless tempests freeze. 

Their eyes are bound. 

And iron bands 

Are heavy on their helpless hands 
Ordained to delve the barren ground 

Of bleak, unlovely lands. 

Week after week. 
Across the snow 
54 



IN MID-OCTOBER 

And weary wastes, they wander so ; 
No human heart wherein to seek 
Surcease of any woe. 

Forevermore 

Their footsteps wend 

Afar from hearth, and home, and friend 
Nor know they what grief hath in store 

Before the bitter end. 

Whate'er their deeds. 

It matters not 5 

Their very names shall be forgot j 
Their agony, their heartsick needs, 

And their forsaken lot. 



IN MID-OCTOBER 

THE dewy morning sky is pale 
Where, steeped in dazzling light. 
The southward-slipping sunbeams veil 
Its pearly depths from sight. 

But in the north, more pure and deep 

Than ever summer knew. 
The sweet October heavens keep 

Their rich autumnal blue. 

55 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

The little clouds float out so clear, 
Slow shredding in the breeze, 

I think none ever strayed so near 
These lofty forest trees. 

Along the smoky river's edge 

Green marsh-moss thickly grows. 

And smart-weeds glisten in the sedge 
Like coral, white and rose. 

And ruby-bodied dragon-flies 

In shining clusters pause. 
Or dart and sparkle, jewel-wise, 

On wings of silver gauze. 

Where tangled water-plants and grass 
Come drifting round the reeds. 

To find fresh cargoes, as they pass. 
Of shells and scarlet seeds. 

Adown the current, through the moss, 

The yellow willows show 
Like golden arras hung across 

The water-world below. 

Yet still the birch and maple trees 
Have barely felt the frost, 
56 



IN MID-OCTOBER 

Nor hint of happy harmonies 
The blackbird notes have lost. 

And pink wild-roses, here and there. 

Are blossoming anew. 
While through the prairies everywhere 

The violets are blue. 

It is as if the aging year 

A second time has found 
Its childhood, whose first playthings here 

Lie scattered on the ground. 

And with such rarest vernal spell 

It touches everything. 
Till tinctured, too, I scarce can tell 

If this be fall or spring ! 

For if the April airs were sweet, 

These are not any less } 
Nor was the May-time more replete 

With perfect blessedness. 



57 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

PRESENT JOY 

O HEART, beat swiftly ! that there may 
No least allotted part 
Of happiness elude thee ; nay, 
Seize quickly that thou canst, nor stay 
Too long in quest of greater, when 
The spring so surely wears away, 
The summer skies grow cold and gray. 
And chill night cometh after day, 
— Beat swifter, then, 
O heart ! 

For since fleet sorrow still pursues, 

All gladness to destroy ; 
Since wintry winds wait but to bruise 
And break the foolish flower whose 

Bright-petaled buds too late unfold ; 
Oh ! therefore no faint ray refuse 
Of warmth or light, but rather choose 
Each gleam to cherish, lest thou lose 
Thy little hold 
Of joy. 

And if it so be given thee 

In anywise to taste 
The brimming crystal purity 
58 



NOVEMBER MORNING 

Of life's deep springs, not listlessly- 
Let their clear stream go by, but speed 
To sip its sweets while sweet they be j 
For slipping on they seek the sea. 
The years roll past, and presently 
There is no need 
To haste. 



NOVEMBER MORNING 

A TINGLING, misty marvel 
Blew hither in the night. 
And now the little peach-trees 
Are clasped in frozen light. 

On linden tips and maples 

An icy film is caught. 
With shining threads of cobwebs 

In pearly patterns wrought. 

The autumn sun, in wonder. 

Is gayly peering through 
This crystal-tissued network 

Across the frosty blue. 

The weather-vane shows silver 
Above the mossy leads 

59 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

That glitter, brightly ice-glazed, 
In rare transparent reds. 

And round the eaves are fringes 

Wherein the seven hues, 
That bar the summer rainbows, 

Congeal and interfuse. 

Upon the walks the pebbles 
Are each a precious stone j 

The grass is tasselled hoar-frost. 
The clover jewel-sown. 

Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle, 

In earth and sky and air. 
Oh ! can it be that darkness 

Is ever anywhere ? 

CHRISTMAS EVE IN THE 
CATHEDRAL 

A THOUSAND tapers make the mid- 
night bright. 
And blaze about the carved cathedral 

choir. 
And touch the marble angels' wings with 
fire, 
60 



CHRISTMAS CHANT 

And fill their faces with a golden light j 
So fair they are, in folded robes of white. 
It almost seems those parted lips suspire. 
Divinely yearning for the heart's desire, 
The marvel that shall glorify the night. 

Then, all at once, from out the ancient 
tower. 
The bells peal forth ! and swelling over 
them 
The grand Te Deum magnifies the power 

Of Him the holy, born in Bethlehem 5 
— O dearest Child ! no gifts nor incense 

sweet. 
But my full heart, I oifer at Thy feet. 

CHRISTMAS CHANT ROYAL TO 
THE KING OF KINGS 

WHAT God hath wrought, long cen- 
turies ago. 
What man hath cherished in divinest lore. 
Chant, richly chant ! In stately chords and 
slow. 
Intone the marvel done this day of yore. 
Sing of the star that burned so strangely 
bright, 

61 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Of angel voices heard that hallowed night, 
When all the folding heavens, east and 

west. 
Betrayed the coming of earth's gracious 
Guest, 
And, steeped in prescient joyfulness, all 
things 
Did glorify a little Babe's behest. 
All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 

Yea ! sing how though unto the Child did go 

The wizard ones, to worship and adore. 
And lowly bending at His feet bestow 

The gold, and myrrh, and frankincense 
they bore 5 
How though high heaven, in starry splendor 

dight. 
Did homage to the promised Prince of light, 
Nathless, below, men idly slept, nor 

guessed 
The priceless gift of great Messiah blest ; 
Nor star, nor song, nor shining angel-wings 

That lordly presence anywise confessed ! 
All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 

For so God chose from out a manger low 

The Light divine of all the world to pour j 
62 



CHRISTMAS CHANT 

And so He willed His own dear Son should 
go 
In mortal guise from out that stable door j 
Yet did He gird Him with such matchless 

might 
'Gainst death, and wrong, and eviluess to 
smite. 
That for all souls by sieging sins opprest, 
He made the certain citadel of rest. 
What need, indeed, of earthly blazonings. 

Of pomp, of purple, or of regal crest ? 
All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 

The Nazarene, reviled, acquaint with woe, 

Who all our mortal garb of sorrow wore ; 

Who meekly proved how that He loved us so, 

Nor shame, nor scorn, nor grievous death 

forbore 5 

The risen Monarch, from before whose sight 

All powers of evil flee in sore affright 5 

The piteous Lord, whose all-forgiving 

breast 
Hath boundless bounty both for worst 
and best ; 
The God majestic, whence, eternal, springs 

All glory, grace, and light ineffablest. 
All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 

63 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Aye ! though the years to olden cycles grow. 
Yet still, with newborn gladness, o' er and 
o'er 
Men learn the lesson of the Christ, and so 

Shall all the ages hence forevermore ; 
Forevermore shall earth His praise recite. 
And sound His greatness unto heaven's 
height ; 
Still sinful souls, by His great love 

caressed. 
Shall fain forego each God-forbidden 
quest, 
And seek the ceaseless shelter that He brings 
The hurt, the helpless, and the heart dis- 
tressed. 
All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 

Etivoy 
And so this day, though loosed in flurried 

flight 
The spangling snows enwrap the world in 

white. 
Let every hearth with holly-boughs be drest, 
This feast' s fair honor freshly to attest ; 
Let trolls be trolled, and every bell that rings 
With chiming cadence still the theme invest : 
All hail to Him, the holy King of kings ! 
64 



THE MARSH MIST 



THE MARSH MIST 

THE sun slipped red behind the haze 
Of distant forest boughs, that raise 
In softened lines along the west, 

A leafy crest. 
The marshy prairie-land became 
A shining, many-colored maze j 
A tracery of gold and flame ; 

An airy blaze 
Of rosy radiance without name ! 
Of ruddy fire that crept. 
And swept. 
Through all the lacing water-ways. 



— Then, by-and-by. 
Beyond the rushes, lush and high. 
The June sunset grew overpast. 

The little limpid pools, that lie 
Among the sedges, faintly glassed 

The last 
Pale afterglow, whose yellow rays 
Flared up the dusky, western sky. 



6S 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

In tangled lines of silver sheen 
The long grass leant ; 

And breeze-tossed birches swayed and bent 
Above tall weeds and reeds, and green 
Wild rice and mosses, where, half-seen, 
Red lilies glowed, and, idly spent. 

The wandering night-wind lightly went. 

Sharp-cut against the eastern blue. 
The deep green forest deeper grew ; 
The leaves stirred, for a little space j 

Then full and near. 
Within the tender violet skies, 
The moon rode up in gracious guise 5 
And drifting darkly, level-wise. 
With wings outspread in lazy grace, 
Across her face, 
A wild crane voyaged slowly through 
The clear. 
Sweet depths of dewy atmosphere. 

So fell the night ; hushed, slumber-bound ; 
Not any sound 
In all that wilderness was made ; 
Nor did a single bird invade 
The utter silence, wide and deep, 
Therein the lowland lay asleep, 

66 



THE MARSH MIST 

Between the faintly spangling stars. 

In silver bars, 
The mellow moonlight beamed and streamed 
And then — divinely visible — it seemed 

The marshes dreamed ! 
In vaporous wreaths and films unwound 

Above the ground, 
A strange white vision floated round ! 



The grass grew hoary ; every blade 
Was rich with rime, that overlaid, 

In drifts of misty flakes, the frets 

Of countless, quivering spider-nets j 
While mocking, frosty filagrees 

Wrapped all the trees ; 
The reeds took on a sudden chill ; 

An icy fringe began to freeze 
Upon the tasselled sedge 5 — until, 

Dissolving slow, with dreamful ease, 
That wintry phantasy had merged 

(But, ah, so subtly, silently !) 
To mimic waves, that swept and surged. 

Till all the marshes seemed to be 
A boundless sea. 
In whose vague depths long grasses trailed. 
Touched out by bright. 

Swift sparks of phosphorescent light, 
Where gleaming fire-flies flashed and paled. 

^1 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

So, to and fro, with restless sweep. 

Borne back and forth by ceaseless swells, 

The tide rolled in ; and here and there 
Laid bare. 

Within its tossing, billowy deep, 

The pink marsh-roses shone like shells. 

Through lingering change of lessened light, 
Within the west, 

The moon went waning out of sight ; 
The little stars glowed half confessed j 

Across the sedge the eastern gray 

Verged surely onward into day ; 
The darkness hovered eerily 5 
A chilling damp the air oppressed j 

— Then freshly, gently as may be, 
Sweet hints of dawning came to fill 

All things with hushed serenity. 
The misty surge grew calm and still j 

The marshes dreamed of perfect rest. 
— But suddenly 

A reed-bird piped within its nest ! 
And borne with faint presaging thrill, 

From out the margin of the dim 
Horizon'' s rim. 



^8 



THE MARSH MIST 

With cleaving motion from below, 
Some dawn-blown current's xmderflow 
Ran rippling through that airy sea ; 
And, changed and channelled by such wide 
Disturbing tide, 
Impalpably it seemed to grow 
More fleecy white, to break and rift. 
And, fanned by viewless force, to lift, 

— And drift, — and drift, — 
To wander higher, — and more high, 

— And so. 
Within the sunny summer sky, 
A morning cloud began to blow. 



69 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

ENVOY 

IF I had lived among the mountain peaks, 
Through whose fine air 
And purest ether, crystalline and rare. 
The voice of nature most divinely speaks ; 
Where far and free the winds of heaven 
blow, 

And from below 
Not any mist nor valley vapor mars 
The little stars 5 
If viewing all things from such lofty height, 
Might it not then been given me to know 
All things more truly, and through keener 
sight ? 

And so, 
From off the mountains could I not have 

caught 
Some semblance of their majesty, and 
wrought 
More high and strong 
In song ? 

Or had some fate decreed for me to dwell 
Beside the tide 
Of the great ocean, fathomless and wide. 



70 



ENVOY 

Whose mighty billows' ceaseless ebb and 
swell 
Tell ever of that grand sublimity 
Within the sea, 
Of storms that gather, and white gulls that 
cry 

From out the sky ; 
If listening daily to the surges break 

Along the shining sand, tumultuously. 
Might not some echo of their voice awake 

In me ? 
Might not my song some subtler essence win. 
And would not something, like the sea, 
therein 
More deep and clear 
Appear ? 

— And yet I know not were it loss or gain 
Away from these 
My native hills, and stream and forest 
trees. 
And level fields of richly-growing grain : 
I cannot tell if they my song have filled. 

Or something stilled. 
Nor all that I have lacked, or they have 
lent j 

But am content, 

71 



ONE WAY TO THE WOODS 

Nay, more, thrice happy, if it be that they 
So bid me sing that any pulse is thrilled 
With hint of lightest summer wind, whose 
play 

Has spilled 
The honey from the least sweet wild-rose 

vine j 
Or if, faint echoing up from any line, 
Some meadow bird 
Is heard. 



^^ 



XI 07 



THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS BOOK CONSISTS 
OF FIVE HUNDRED COPIES WITH THIRTY- 
FIVE ADDITIONAL COPIES ON HAND-MADE 
PAPER PRINTED DURING JULY 1 897 BY THE 
ROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL PRESS OF BOSTON 



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